Second Chances

by Abbie Williams

  “Jo, you feel so good,” he said, low, his lips near my ear.

  Wisely I said nothing. I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a moment’s pang that Jackson was trying so hard. His hand had once been so welcome holding mine, skimming all over my body. I was steeped in sudden, clutching regret at our failure, the fact that this was the last time I ever planned to dance with someone I’d once considered myself in love with. Someone who’d given me three beautiful children and with whom I’d planned to spend the duration of my life.

  “God, I miss you,” he went on, and I could tell he meant that, or at least did right now. He was swept up in the wistful atmosphere of our unchanging hometown, the memories, the love we’d once shared. And our girls. It was so hard to deny them what they wanted, but I could tell they were part of this whole scheme. They loved Jackie still. They just wanted their parents to be together, like any kids.

  “Jackie…” My eyes grew teary without my permission. People were dancing all around us, smiling, talking, laughing, and yet it was like he and I were in a small amber-tinted bubble, crystallized as versions of our former selves, the couple we’d been once upon a time. I felt as though this moment was as clearly a fork in a road as any in my life. Part of me was in Jackson’s arms and another was poised, shivering in a sudden breeze, at the juncture of a divided path. It would be so easy to sink into his words and let myself believe him.

  “I want you to come home with me,” he said then, and I closed my eyes, not letting any tears fall. I’d known this was coming. Trust him to do this in a crowd, with our children as witnesses. But he was a lawyer, accustomed to getting his way, and it was a tactic. “Your wedding rings are in that package, Joelle, and I want you to put them on again and come home.” His voice was full of feeling. “I have never been so face to face with regret as I’ve been this last month. I’ve been so wrong. Jo, God, please believe me. Please, baby, come back with me.”

  No. My entire body rebelled against all of this, but most especially the endearment. Only one man was allowed to call me ‘baby,’ and that was the last straw. Thankfully the song was ending on a drawn-out note, and I eased back from his arms.

  Jackie kept my hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing my knuckles before releasing me. He said, “Think about, Jo. I’m going home this week.”

  Still I hadn’t spoken. It stunned me that he’d say these things, allow himself to become so vulnerable to me.

  He said, “I’ll come back in the morning. Sleep on it, Joelle.” And then, as a final low-down blow, his eyes bearing into mine, “I love you. I truly do. And I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you.”

  And then he turned and walked back through the crowd.

  My girls were giggly with excitement later. I spied them in a big group of their friends, sitting around the fire, even Camille, who waved cheerfully at me as I walked by en route to the dock. Jackson had disappeared. Jilly was undoubtedly somewhere having incredibly hot sex with Justin; I hadn’t seen either of them for the past half hour. Mom and Ellen were carting food back into the café. Two-thirds of the guests had headed home, though two of Gran’s friends, women around her age, were still sitting with her at a porch table, enjoying coffee and slices of cake. But I walked briskly away from all of that merriment to the sanctity of the dock, where I kicked off my shoes and took up my customary place at the end, letting my feet sink into the water. In my hand was the package containing my wedding rings.

  I set that beside me and looked out over the lake. It was pleasant down here, and so blessedly familiar. My soul had been etched with the contours of the scene before my eyes right now, the constant ripple of the water, the shapes of the trees lining the far shore, the way the lake curved out and around a natural bend. The scent of the lake, musky and green and tinged with fish. Above me, against the darkened sky, were the small unmistakable shapes of brown bats in their choppy, erratic flight. Gran and Great-Aunt Minnie had years ago built bat houses to attract the creatures, which ate their weight in mosquitoes on a nightly basis. I drew in a deep breath and held it, and when I exhaled, I murmured Blythe’s name like an incantation.

  Tomorrow I would be on the road. My bag was packed, Tish and Ruthie had their overnight things for the next few days, as they’d be staying at Shore Leave in my absence. Tish had filled me in on several of the shin-digs they had planned for this last week of summer; school began Tuesday the 9th, just after Labor Day. I would be home by then, Blythe with me.

  It hurts you about Jackson, though, admit it. I didn’t hate him. In fact, he’d successfully manipulated me into feeling sorry for him. Inadvertently my fingers went to the gift-wrapped box. It may be over between us in my mind, but I wasn’t totally heartless. He’d said all of the things I would have given my eye teeth to hear last winter. But thank God he hadn’t then. I would never have come here to stay and would have continued living half-alive, my soul trapped behind a barrier I’d never even known was there. I could never go back to that.

  But you’ll have to hurt him. And the girls. I did know that. But, far worse than any empathy I may dredge up for Jackson, it tortured me to think about my girls wanting something so badly that would never again happen.

  Much later I curled up on the couch in Jilly’s place; I’d intended to wait up for her, but exhaustion had dragged me under and I’d slept before she came back, if she even had last night. I figured I needed sleep anyway; I intended to head out early, get on the road before dawn. But that didn’t happen. It just wasn’t in the cards on this last morning of August.

  I came awake reluctantly, snatched from a restless dream, and realized Mom was bending over me. The incongruity of Mom in Jillian’s apartment at this hour of the morning disoriented me. I whispered, “What’s…”

  Tears were streaking over her cheeks and her hands were on my shoulders. Fear entered my throat like a white-hot poker, flashing through me instantly. I sat up too fast and demanded, “Oh God, what’s wrong?”

  Mom knelt then, putting her face level with mine. She said in a tiny voice, “It’s Gran. Oh, Joelle, she’s gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where? Oh Mom…oh no…” My voice died out to nothing as everything inside of me swelled with despair. Tears sprang into my eyes as I pitched forward and into Mom’s plump, warm, comforting arms. She held me and sobbed against my shoulder. Her hair was loose and smelled of her pillow. I clung to her, sorrow ricocheting through my heart. Gran, oh Gran. No, no, no.

  “But she was just…having cake…last night,” I wept, my forehead on Mom’s shoulder. “She was just having cake.”

  “She loved you girls so much,” Mom said after a time, pulling back a fraction and regarding us. She added gently, “You and Jillian especially. You were the light of her lives.”

  I cupped a hand around my eyes.

  “They’re all over at the café. Dodge is here, Jilly and Justin are on their way, and Rich is coming home.”

  I sat straighter at her words, my thoughts racing ahead. This meant I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t go to Blythe, not in the wake of this. My heart panged with new despair.

  “Mom, when did you talk to Rich?” I asked.

  She scooped her long hair into one hand and blew out a breath, her cheeks puffing out. Her eyes and nose were red, her lips swollen. She said, “Just a bit ago. He’s flying home as soon as he can. Surely you’re not thinking…”

  I shook my head. “No, of course I’ll stay here.” But the words were bitter in my throat, a taste like iron.

  “Good,” Mom said, rubbing my shoulders. For a moment her expression changed markedly and she said, “Honey, Jilly is going to have big news.”

  “News?” I parroted dumbly.

  “Just yesterday Justin asked me for permission to propose to her. He was going to last night. Oh, Jilly...Gran would be so happy. We have to happy for her, despite everything.”

  I felt I couldn’t quite handle one shock on top of another, but I said, “Of course we will.”

  The morning sk
y was heavy, its underbelly of indigo rain clouds scuttling across a darker backdrop of steely gray. Intermittent rain slashed over the porch and the air was chilly, almost autumn-like. But inside Shore Leave the lights glowed brightly and kept a little of the gloom at bay.

  Hugs and murmured words were all around. Coffee and then food, as those who’d come to celebrate birth yesterday came now in sympathy as news of Gran’s death spread through Landon, toting casseroles and breads, plates of cookies, cakes in dented aluminum pans with rollaway tops. At one point I found myself wondering why Gran wasn’t in the room, enjoying the company. For a second I thought about going to get her. Just before noon Cal Price, whose family had run the funeral home in Landon for generations, pulled into the parking lot driving a hearse. Across the crowded dining room, my eyes met those of Mom, Jilly and Aunt Ellen. The four of us were caught in a web of silent understanding, and moved as one to the porch.

  Ellen’s knees sagged a little, and Mom bolstered her. Cal, who was only a little younger than Gran had been, came right up onto the porch and hugged all of us in turn. He said gently, “I’m so very sorry, girls.”

  His sons carried Gran out on a stretcher and she was covered carefully with a sheet. I was immeasurably touched to see Cal holding an umbrella over her body as they carried her through the misting rain. I stood in a tightly-woven knot with Mom and Jilly, Ellen and the kids, who’d come outside with downcast lips and eyes. We were all soaked to the skin, but there was no question of moving. At the last moment Clint broke free and darted over to where the younger Prices had opened the back hatch of their vehicle. They looked at him in surprise, but I knew what he was doing. He bent and touched the sheet over Gran’s face. Dear, sweet Clinty. He murmured something to her. Jilly made a choked sound in her throat and ran to join him, and then we were all there, clinging to each other and touching Gran with gentle, loving fingertips, bidding farewell to the woman who’d given so much, whose love had shaped each of us in countless ways. And we all stood and watched the ruby taillights of the big cumbersome vehicle as it crunched away over the gravel, bearing Gran down the lake road from Shore Leave for the last time.

  Much later Jilly and I were slumped at table three, eating leftover birthday cake, the last ones in the café. It was nearly midnight, and we were exhausted; Jilly’s eyes were so shadowed she appeared to have been punched. I’m sure mine looked the same. We’d run through the gamut of emotions today and were just relieved to be in one another’s presence, alone. The kids had all fallen asleep in sleeping bags on Jilly’s living room floor, needing one another as much as Jilly and I did right now. Outside the stars had winked on full-force, the clouds having shredded up and blown away to parts unknown. Mom, Dodge and Ellen were sitting around the fire; Justin, too. He was so worried about Jillian (after all, it was her birthday and they were newly engaged). I noticed that his lawn chair was angled so he could watch the screen door for the moment we came back outside.

  After a moment I took my sister’s left hand into mine and admired her ring again. Despite everything, I was thrilled for them, and tilted her delicate hand side to side to admire the sparkle. I said, “Don’t put anything off for your wedding, you know Gran would never want that.”

  She nodded, wiping stray tears. “I won’t, I promise. I’m so happy, Jo, underneath. And Justin’s so worried today. My sweetheart.”

  I said softly, “Mom said Gran had talked about a memorial service once, but didn’t want a funeral.”

  Tears glistened on Jilly’s cheeks yet again as she whispered, “She wants to be scattered over the lake.”

  The bite I’d just eaten lodged in my throat, but I was determined not to cry anymore tonight. My head was already aching. I swallowed, though with difficulty, and then said, “Did you hear Mom wants to do the service on Wednesday?”

  “Rich’ll be home by then,” Jilly said. And then, “What about Bly? Oh Jo, I know you were going to drive down there today. I’d forgotten.”

  “He gets out on Tuesday. I haven’t talked to him in weeks,” I said, trying not to let my agony over that supersede the agony of today. “When Rich gets here I’ll find out what’s going on. Oh, God, Jilly…”

  “Jo, you’re trembling,” Jilly said, pressing a soft palm on my forearm. “It’s all right.”

  “I didn’t get to tell you about last night,” I said. “About what Jackson said.”

  “I heard you’d danced. Clinty told me,” Jilly responded. Her eyes grew sharp with distrust. “Why, what did he say?”

  I summarized, including the incident at breakfast yesterday morning. And then I told her about the conversation with Gran, just yesterday and about a million years ago.

  Jilly’s lips tipped up at the corners, despite her tears. “You listen to Gran. You promise me, Jo.”

  “There was never a doubt in my mind,” I told her. “And you and Justin go right ahead with your wedding, all right?” Jillian nodded, swiping at her eyes and then her nose. She looked out the wide front windows, towards the group at the fire pit and then said, “Come on, Jo, let’s go sit with them.”

  Justin’s dark eyes caressed Jillian as we approached and without hesitation she moved to sit on his lap, where he curled her close within the strength of his arms. She settled her head against his wide shoulder. As I took my own seat, across from them, I smiled. And knew Gran would have too.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Monday passed in a haze. We’d closed Shore Leave for the time being. I was useless; we all were. We spent the intermittently rainy day crowded around albums and piles of loose photos that Mom and Ellen carted down from the attic, bursting with Gran in all the seasons of her long, fruitful life. Mom wanted to make a couple of collages for the memorial service on Wednesday.

  “Oh, look at this one! Gran looks so young,” Camille said yet again, holding aloft a black and white snapshot of Gran and Great-Aunt Minnie, sitting outside by the fire pit, bare feet propped up on wooden stumps, both grinning and holding beer bottles in a salute to the camera. Or maybe just life in general. The year on the back of the picture was scrawled in faded black ink. 1948.

  “Look, I remember that bathing suit,” Jilly said, gesturing to another picture, in which Gran was wearing a polka-dotted number, her hair, which had been shoulder-length, hanging loose. She had a cigarette clamped between her teeth and her hands cupped around the heads of Jilly and me, around ages four and five.

  “Yeah, she always loved polka dot prints,” Ellen said fondly.

  “And big hats,” Mom added. “Here’s one of Dad. Wow, I didn’t know Ma had any pictures of him.”

  We crowded around to look at the photo; he’d been lean and lanky, mustached and handsome, squinting into the sun of a long-gone afternoon in the 1940s. After much digging, Mom found another, the one she’d been looking for, featuring Gran and the same man. This one they hadn’t realized was being taken; they were down by Flickertail Lake and his right hand was touching her back, his left pointing out towards something on the water. Gran had her hands clasped beneath her chin; they were both in profile.

  “That’s a great shot,” I said. “What were they looking at?”

  “Lord knows,” Mom said. “But it’s a good picture of the two of them. We should get this enlarged, Ell.”

  Clint asked, “Did Gran ever have another boyfriend?”

  “No, not that we ever knew,” Ellen filled in, but then she tipped her head in speculation. “Wait, though, I remember when Jo and Jilly were little there was that man who came to replace the phone lines. Remember, Joanie?”

  “Ooh, what’s this?” Jilly asked, her ears perking. “An illicit romance?”

  I giggled, hoping that Gran had taken advantage of a relationship like that.

  “Eww,” said Tish.

  “Nothing that dramatic,” Ellen said, sounding amused. “But they did see each other for a while. What was his name?”

  “I’d have to think,” Mom said. “I remember one night Ma came back from dinner with him a
nd her hair was wet. And I knew she hadn’t taken a bathing suit!”

  The kids made a collective sound of surprise while Jilly and I laughed heartily. It felt good to laugh like that.

  Clint gaped at us and asked, “You mean Gran was skinny-dipping?”

  Jilly and I laughed even harder.

  “She was a woman way before she was your gran,” Camille chided him.

  “Yeah, but…” Clinty was at a loss.

  I headed through the pass-through door between dining room and kitchen, meaning to grab a plate of cookies. Thanks to the generosity of the housewives of Landon, we probably had food enough to get us to winter. I didn’t notice Ruthie behind me until I turned around and she said, quietly, “Mom, did you talk to Daddy last night?”

  I set down the plate and looked into her eyes, my youngest and sweetest child, the one who would no doubt take the news of our ending relationship the hardest. She couldn’t see her father’s faults, nor mine if truth be told, and I wasn’t going to elaborate in that fashion. But she had to know that it wasn’t to be. I chose my words with great care, saying, “Yes, we did talk a little.”

  “Did you open up your rings?”

  I pushed aside any anger that Jackson would dare get her hopes up in that way and said, “I did, but Ruthie…”

  She burst into tears before I could say another word and I moved to gather her in my arms. She allowed it, wrapping her slim little arms around my waist and clinging. My heart ached for her. She was so little, when it came down to it, and there was a part of me that truly considered sacrificing my own happiness for hers, that would have gone home to Chicago and tried again. I imagined that for a moment in the stainless-steel kitchen at Shore Leave with my lips pressed to the top of Ruthie’s head, her dark curls that smelled of Jilly’s coconut shampoo. Imagined returning to Chicago and our townhouse, and the fairly privileged lives we all had lived there. For a moment I let last weekend play out in my mind…had I slept with Jackson in that old twin bed and gone that route. And then I shuddered and rocked my daughter side to side and thanked the powers that be that I would never have done such a thing.